Aveo
by miow
Summary: How each of Hawke's companions left the Champion's side. All except Anders, of course. But maybe him too. We'll see. Rated for Language. There will be one chapter for each companion, written in sequential order. Chapter 3 is for Fenris.
1. Sacerdos

As the Champion of Kirkwall looked back to her companions, she saw the same expression of pity mirrored back to her, in varying degrees. The guard captain's jaw was clenched tightly, but the wrinkle in her brow betrayed her. Merrill was incoherently muttering, her nervous fingers plucking at the air frantically. The pirate queen's stance was carefully poised to mimic indifference to the cataclysm exploding around them, but Isabela's eyes could not meet Hawke's. Varric watched her, carefully, his shoulders slumped and eyes ringed in sorrow. Even Fenris, whose face might have been cast in stone softened briefly as Hawke's gaze caught his. The Champion did not need to look for Sebastian; his rage polluted the air as thickly as the Quinari's poisonous gas had, once. A lifetime ago.

As for _him_, well, she wasn't going to even _imagine_ how _his_ face looked. Besides, she already knew every expression by heart.

Hawke leaned her head skyward and took a deep breath, only to choke on particles of debris and smoke. She coughed violently, forcing her burning lungs to clear. She noticed her hands were trembling and so she turned them into small fists, held stiffly by her sides. Eyes closed, she asked for opinions from her party, though her choice had already been made. _A nicety,_ she told herself, and had to fight the sudden, terrible, urge to laugh. She remembered how passionately she had pleaded with the old woman cleric and how she had tried to swallow the sourness of her own fear. Days ago.

A shrill scream of pain or terror forced the Champion to open her eyes. Her companions remained. They were all looking to her, waiting, just as they always had, though the world around them was burning. For the first time in her life, the Champion of Kirkwall wanted to disappear. For the first time, the Champion resented all of her friends. _Can none of you act on your own principles? _

Hawke shook her head, this was not _their _fault. If anything, they had tried to warn her about _him. _They cared for her. They were her family.

Hawke turned toward _him_ but could not look into his face. There was only one thing she could say.

"Come with me." she said, thickly. "Help me defend the mages."

The healer startled and tried to look at her, eyes wide with disbelief. "You mean... stay with you? I didn't think you'd let me. But if you do, I'll fight the templars. Damned right I will."

Hawke's gaze remained fixed on the filthy pavement beneath her feet. The ground was shiny with so much blood.

Sebastian's furious ranting forced her to look at him. _His armor is ridiculous_ she mused. _Far too white and clean. _He was still talking, heatedly, and though she knew he was spewing something, probably something serious, Hawke couldn't seem to focus on the words.

She could still, however, interpret a threat towards the man she loved. _Loves? _

"Do not interfere, Sebastian." Hawke snarled, her mind snapping into perfect clarity.

It was obvious Sebastian had not anticipated her reaction. "We were friends, Hawke! I thought I knew you!"

The Champion said nothing, but her hands twitched towards the daggers on her back. And it was in this moment, a brother of the faith become a prince. His eyes, keen on hers narrowed in disgust. He spoke slowly, his anger punctuating every syllable "I swear to you, I will find your precious Anders. I will teach him what Justice truly is."

"I believe you will try, Sebastian." Hawk replied. She smiled listlessly and shrugged one shoulder. "I am sorry."

"You've made your choice, Hawke." Sebastian spat, turning on his heel, toward Starkhaven.

At this, the Champion did laugh. And what began as a small chuckle soon became a breathless gale of hilarity. Tears streaming, she called after him. "Choice?!" Hawke choked, sobering. "We have no _choices,_ Sebastian! Can't you see?! We all just do as we must." The prince's stride slowed as her words reached him and then immediately resurfaced with vigor. _Well, at least he heard me, _she noted with grim satisfaction.

Anders muttered something to her that she did not hear. She did not care to hear.

"Right." Hawke said, after it was apparent Sebastian would not make good on his threat today. "Let's go start a revolution." And with that, she began her heavy march towards the Gallows.

When she dared to glance back to that place, that _crate_, the brother was gone. All that remained was the haze of smoke and the judgment of a blood red sky.

*******  
AN: Sorry for any errors, I'm roughin' it. Please, feel free to criticize. I'm a masochist like that.


	2. Custodem

After the group dispatched the monstrous pride demon in front of that insipid Champion statue, Hawke called for a short rest. "Really, the damned thing doesn't even look like me!" she said, catching her breath. "And have I ever even tried to pick up a great sword?"

Varric kindly obliged her desperate attempt at levity. "Well, you know, Hawke, most Champions cut a far more imposing figure. Or so I've heard. You're not exactly a towering knight. More like...the Lunatic of Lowtown."

"Oooh, I like the 'Tawdry Trickster! The Salacious Scoundrel!" Isabella chimed in with a wink.

"You've certainly tried to pick up a great sword." Fenris deadpanned "You dropped mine into a swamp after I 'let you experience different weapon styles.'"

Hawke snorted with forced indignation. "I was _experimenting_, Fenris. And I am not a lunatic, Varric. Impulsive, yes. Or, how about 'eccentric?' I like eccentric."

"It really doesn't look a bit like Hawke." Merrill piped up, dreamily staring at the hulk of metal. "She's much smaller. Prettier too, lethallan."

Hawke smiled tightly at her friends, swallowing past the burgeoning lump in her throat. _No falling apart _she told herself, _Not yet, anyway. _She knew she needed to tell them something. She needed to tell them that she was sorry. That she loved them. That even though Hawke had never been serious, she knew how solemn the situation was now. The Champion mentally prepared herself and drew a deep breath.

A flash of orange and the familiar shuffle of metal on dirt spared her from addressing her companions. Aveline's husband was running toward them, a small unit in tow. His face was dirty, and ash and gore marred the uniform of the guard. All of them looked rather worse for the wear. Aveline rushed to meet her men.

"Donnic." Aveline sighed, relieved, as she grasped her husband's shoulder firmly.

Donnic embraced his wife before speaking. "The city has gone mad, Aveline. There is panic, chaos and looting is rampant. People are being trampled, and both mage and templar are killing our men."

Whatever Aveline was going to say remained unheard. Hawke's voice was clear and sharp. "Guard Captain! I have no need of your services."

"What? I can't leave you, Hawke. I won't." Aveline said, curling her sword hand into a fist.

Hawke ignored her. "Your duty is to your men and the people of this city," she said.

"Hawke," began the guardswoman, her voice a warning.

"The helpless and the innocent are dying, Aveline." Hawke interrupted. "I am neither." The Champion walked the few paces so that she was standing toe to toe with her oldest friend.

"Aveline," she started and stopped. She took Aveline's armored hands in her own and looked up into the familiar, broad face.

"Sister," she began again and nodded, as if agreeing with herself. "Sister, you protect this city...your _home._ I will deal with Meredith... I will not be back." Here, she stopped, took a trembling breath and embraced the taller woman in a fierce hug that would have to say everything that she could not.

"Aveline, have the most _fantastic_ life." Hawke released the captain, clapped Donnic on the back and finally turned to her remaining companions. "Well, let's dance." she said hoarsely, unsheathing her daggers and boarding the boat that would take them to the Gallows.

Aveline shouted orders to her men and wiped at her eyes violently. She readied her shield and headed toward Hightown, Donnic at her side. Hawke did not look back. Nor did the Captain of the Guard.


	3. Proeliator

Chapter 3: Proeliator

Bethany was afraid for Hawke. The Circle Mage was also terrified _of_ her, having had seen exactly what her dear sister was now capable of and how very little she seemed to be affected by the destruction. Bethany clutched at Orsino's staff until her fingers ached.

Their group had managed to reach the docks, and thu_s The Siren's Call _with surprisingly little notice from either templars, guards, or ruffians.

Aboard Isabella's mustard-sailed ship, the group finally had a moment to process the day's horrors. They were still docked, at the pirate's insistence. They needed at least some of her crew if they were to make it outside of the Wounded Coast as the sloop was slightly too large to handle alone. Nevertheless, they had been productive, the rogues had stolen some choice provisions from other vessels and Hawke had already changed out of her infamous Champion's gear.

Isabella had provided her with a spare deckhand's thin kirtle and trousers. While Hawke was relieved that the pirate queen had given her actual pants, her years living as a noble had made her accustomed to more luxurious fabrics and the trousers scratched at her thighs worse that Gamlen's sheets had. The rogue was a bit chagrined to discover that she was irritated by a scratchy ass at such a disastrous time.

As the Champion discussed travel options with Isabella and Varric, Bethany cried openly, slumped against the ship's oaken railing. She had been devastated by the loss of Orsino. It was Merrill, speaking to her in hushed elvish tones and running light fingers through her long, dark hair that eventually managed to quiet her sobs to soft hiccups.

Fenris was smoldering by Hawke's left arm, jaw clenched. His lyrium markings had yet to fade from their last, terrible battle. Every so often, he spared a glare towards Anders, nearly baring his teeth at the healer. On his own, Anders had retreated a safe distance away from the group, leaning heavily on his staff, wedged between two crates of salted meat and flour. He had been injured, though not seriously, and he was favoring his right side. He had yet to speak and his eyes never left Hawke's form.

"I think we can make it to Highever within a week, if you want to get back to Fereldan." Isabella told the Champion, a worn map displayed atop a barrel of freshwater between the pair.

Hawke shook her head and plucked at the small laceration across her hairline she had earned earlier distractedly. "Can't go back to Fereldan. They would find us in weeks; it's too obvious. Plus, it's not like we have any friends there."

Varric disagreed, and stroked his crossbow while speaking. "I seem to remember you making quite an impression on King Alistair, Hawke. Something about him being 'happy to have you back?'" The dwarf waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Hawke gave a short laugh. "Undoubtedly, the king would love to have my charming, templar killing self prance about the Fereldan countryside but I suspect his Queen Anora is a bit more...pragmatic."

"Well, I could get you to Ostwick or Cumberland, but I promise you it won't be pretty, kitten." Isabella said, brow furrowed. "I didn't exactly stock my ship for a dramatic getaway full around the Waking Sea. Not to mention, even if half the lads make our departure, I won't have a full crew."

Hawke sighed. "Fantastic. Stay in the Free Marches, where, by the way, I'm about as well known as a pink bellied archdemon, or trek on over towards fucking _Orlais, _which, I've heard is lovely this time of year."

"This isn't funny, sister." Bethany spoke hoarsely, looking furious.

"No, it isn't." Hawke agreed, her voice rising as she waved her hands in an exasperated, flailing motion.

There was a long, terrible silence that settled over the group. Hawke shifted from her left foot to her right and back again before muttering "fuck it" and straightening her diminutive frame. She looked over at each of her comrades, her face a familiar mask of steel.

"None of you owe me anything. I...It has been an honor to know each of you. You've become my family, but I can't ask any one of you to follow me now. If you come with me, you should know that we're going to be hunted." Hawke lowered her eyes before continuing. "I don't even know if what we did was right. But it was my choice. Not yours. Any one of you is free to leave now, or at any time. I just want you to know...my time here has been the happiest of my life and I love you, and, well...shit." The Champion winced as she finished, lamely.

The silence continued. It became unbearable

And then, Varric reached up and clapped his friend on the middle of her back. "Shit." He agreed, grinning. "Where to, Hawke?"

Merrill took Hawke's opposite hand. "I'm with you, lethallan."

Bethany met her sister's gaze and though angry, she nodded resolutely. "Sister."

Isabella planted a wet kiss on Hawke's right ear, hitting the cold golden hoop through her cartilage. "We're gonna need more booze. A lot more," she said, rubbing at her kohl lined eyes.

Hawke felt her chest constrict painfully and she attempted to swallow past the growing lump taking residence in her throat. She ventured to speak, but no sound was forced from her quivering mouth. Finally, Hawke simply pressed her lips together firmly and nodded, her eyes leaking tears. She squeezed Merrill's hand and managed to whisper a choked "thank you" to the four before wiping her face with the filthy, tattered remains of Varric's proffered handkerchief.

And then, the Champion heard her name fall quietly from Fenris's lips. She froze, handkerchief halfway between her cheek and forehead. When she willed herself to face him, she could not stop the cry of dismay that tore from her. Fenris's skin was pulsing lightly with mana and his face was dark as he took her by the elbow and guided her off Isabella's sloop and away from their companions. When they had reached the wooden dock, a distance that offered some small semblance of privacy, the elf stopped and faced her.

"You're leaving" Hawke stated, defeated.

"Yes." Fenris answered, and his eyes burned into her own, his hand still holding her left arm firmly above the crook.

"Where will you go?" Hawke asked, flicking her gaze away from him.

"Starkhaven." He answered, solidly.

The Champion flinched, visibly. "Sebastian?" She questioned lightly.

"Yes." Fenris removed his hand from her arm and crossed his own across his chest. "He was right, Hawke. He is also my friend. Yours as well, I believe."

Hawke knew that the two had fostered a friendship. She had even encouraged it, saying that Fenris was far too broody and Sebastian far too boring. She gave a weak smile. "Of course, Fenris."

The elf looked at her carefully, and the rogue was reminded of how he had measured Hadriana similarly, once. "You could join me, Hawke. He would forgive you."

The Champion's eyes lifted in surprise. She paused before answering slowly, her voice low. "Anders would be the price."

Fenris's words were hard. "Even he expects to die for his crimes. If you cannot slay him, I will do so for you. If you will not, then send the abomination away. Just come with me. Bethany and the dwarf also, if you wish." He swallowed. "And if you must bring the blood mage, then so be it."

Hawke was touched. "Even Merrill? Things must be serious." she joked, and gently brushed silver strands away from his nose with two fingers.

Fenris caught her hand in his armored one. "Hawke." He said, pleading with her. Hawke realized that this was the first time he had ever touched her. If anything, the elf had always been deliberate to avoid contact with the Champion. Hawke knew that he had felt something for her, once. She wondered if he would miss her now.

Hawke brought her other hand up to trace his sharp jawline. She closed her eyes and leaned into him, inhaling the scent that was uniquely Fenris- sour, salty and smokey, like tar from birch. "I wish" she said, eyes still closed, "I wish that I could go with you." When she opened her tired, red-rimmed eyes, Fenris's face was far too close to her own.

"Not nearly as much as I do" he growled before pressing his lips to hers. A small squeak escaped from the Champion and as her mouth was slack, the elf roughly invaded. He tangled one hand in her hair and pulled her tightly against him. After a moment, shocked, the Champion kissed him back, sweetly. Slowly she curled a tentative hand above his narrow waist. Hawke could feel the heat radiating off of him and she wondered if it was the lyrium brands or simply his own skin. When Fenris finally released her, he was trembling and his eyes devoured her swollen lips with satisfaction. Hawke was slightly dazed as he held her up by both of her shoulders.

"I _will_ help Sebastian. When we find the mage...don't be there, Hawke." The elf kissed her again, this time on her forehead and walked away from her. Belatedly, the Champion realized that the fighter never said goodbye.

AN: This one was tricky for me, but I'm fairly pleased with out it turned out. Next up is either Isabella or Varric. Please, review if you've got time. I could use the motivation.


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